hem, Mr. Burleson. The relative values of
a deer and a man have changed since they hanged poachers in England."

They sat silent for a while, watching the men below.

"Miss Elliott," he said, impulsively, "may I not know your father?"

She flushed and turned towards him as though unpleasantly startled. That
was only instinct, for almost at the same moment she leaned back quietly
against the tree.

"I think my father would like to know you," she said. "He seldom sees
men--men like himself."

"Perhaps you would let me smoke a cigarette, Miss Elliott?" he ventured.

"You were very silly not to ask me before," she said, unconsciously
falling into his commonplace vein of easy deference.

"I wonder," he went on, lazily, "what that debris is on the land which
runs back from the store at Fox Cross-roads. It can't be that anybody
was simple enough to go boring for oil."

She winced; but the smile remained on her face, and she met his eyes
quite calmly.

"That pile of debris," she said, "is, I fancy, the wreck of the house of
Elliott. My father did bore for oil and found it--about a pint, I
believe."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Burleson, red as a pippin.

"I am not a bit sensitive," she said. Her mouth, the white, heavy lids
of her eyes, contradicted her.

"There was a very dreadful smash-up of the house of Elliott, Mr.
Burleson. If you feel a bit friendly towards that house, you will advise
me how I may sell 'The Witch.' I don't mind telling you why. My father
has simply got to go to some place where rheumatism can be helped--be
made bearable. I know that I could easily dispose of the mare if I were
in a civilized region; even Grier offered half her value. If you know of
any people who care for that sort of horse, I'll be delighted to enter
into brisk correspondence with them."

"I know a man," observed Burleson, deliberately, "who would buy that
mare in about nine-tenths of a second."

"Oh, I'll concede him the other tenth!" cried the girl, laughing. It was
the first clear, care-free laugh he had heard from her--and so
fascinating, so delicious, that he sat there silent in entranced
surprise.

"About the value of the mare," she suggested, diffidently, "you may tell
your friend that she is only worth what father paid for her--"

"Good Lord!" he said, "that's not the way to sell a horse!"

"Why not? Isn't she worth that much?"

"What did your father pay for her?"

The girl named the sum a trifle anxiou